


Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere

by Lemon_Rock



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Cousin Incest, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, i actually hate how this turned out please dont h8 me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25754353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Rock/pseuds/Lemon_Rock
Summary: Takes place after the events of Moonvasion.Gladstone has been missing for quite a while now. Della, worried sick for her lost soul of a cousin, barges down Donald's door and forces him out to help them search.“You two were so close teens, I just thought you'd know where he was.”Donald had a hunch where the gander might've left off to, but he wasn't emotionally prepared to face those wooden walls just to find out.
Relationships: Donald Duck/Gladstone Gander
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Cabin in the Middle of Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> i actually really, rEALLY hate how this turned out but i needed to publish it so that i didn't delete it completely. Who knows, maybe I'll try to rewrite something similar one day when i don't completely hate my under-developed writing style.

“Donald! Donald! Have you seen Gladstone anywhere recently?” Della yelled, bursting in through the door of Donald's newly fixed houseboat. Why he kept repairing and rebuilding that thing was beyond her.

“No.” Donald groaned from the kitchen, a hot mug of coffee, as black as his soul, in hand as he rubbed at the bags underneath his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping much recently for reasons his subconscious didn't want him mentioning out loud. “Why do you think I'd know anything about where he is? And why are you looking for him anyway?”

“He's been missing for three goddamn weeks, Don!” She scoffed. I know, Donald thought to himself. “He said he'd be staying with us but nobody's seen him around. I've checked everywhere and asked everyone! You guys used to be so close as teens. I thought maybe you'd have a clue of where he'd gone off to since the two of you disappeared a lot back then.” Della added, taking a seat on the kitchen counter beside her brother, legs kicking up and down against the cupboards.

Donald was oddly silent, instead only focusing on the light banging his sister's webbed feet were making in the background. He made no attempt at foul mockery or smug commentary, Della had even expected an eyeroll or two, but nothing. Donald just stood there, deep in thought as though he was mentally listing each of the gander's old hiding spots and why he hadn't checked their teen hang out spots either. The pilot watched her brother closely as he placed his mug down with a sigh.

"Let me get dressed and I'll help look for him, okay?" He said, taking his sister's hand in his own. She'd been alone on the moon for so long and all she wanted to do now was spend time with her family, and that, much to Donald's dismay, was not exclusive of Gladstone. The duck wanted to do what was in his power to keep his sister happy, even if that meant he'd have to reopen old wounds.

Della smiled up at her brother, thanking him before hopping off the counter and running off, "I'll get the boys up on the Cloud Slayer as soon as possible to help look for him too, call Louie if you find anything!" But she was gone before he could reply. Classic Della.

Donald sighed, glancing over at his coffee, staring at his reflection in the dark liquid with tired eyes. Caffeinated waves crashing at the brim of his mug as the house boat rocked back and forth by decree of Della's hasty exit. ‘He couldn't have gone there, could he?’ Donald sighed once more.

Obviously, there was only one way to find out.

After fifteen or so minutes of fighting with the closet hanger for his black sailor suit, having it torn to near shreds and then deciding to just wear the blue one, Donald left the house boat, not forgetting to lock it this time. He asked around for his car keys, and, thanks to Duckworth, the incoherent duck was set off for a long drive to Grandma Duck's farm. With his luck, his radio was busted again, which ultimately left him alone with thoughts he didn't really have the energy or patience to delve into.

Starting the ignition, the duck waved goodbye to each of his nephews and his twin sister, recieving a "Good luck!", two enthused waves back at him and a peace sign in return.

Finally out on the open road, Donald began to feel small again. The whole house was going ballistic because Gladstone had gone missing, but nobody had bat an eye when he was on the moon, just immediately assuming that he was tending to some leisure activity once again.

Donald sighed as he checked the rearview mirror, turning a corner slowly. It wasn't really rocket science trying to figure out why everyone's focus and energy was always on the ‘charming and handsome Gladstone Gander’, never the unlucky, boring and overprotective Donald Duck.

Was there something wrong with him? He'd always wondered that around Gladstone, always compared himself to his more successful cousin. He knew that type of mentality was toxic, self-destructive even, but that didn't stop him from questioning his own self-worth. Why was it that the half-goose was always the center of attention in the family? Not that he wanted that for himself -anxiety was high with this one- but it was the thought that counts, ya know? They knew Gladstone was lucky, it never came off as a surprise, like  _ ever,  _ and yet, they always seemed to act like it was their first time meeting the luckiest guy on Earth, their first time basking in his glory.

Donald had reached the farm sooner than he thought he would, gazing out at the greenery that he'd grown up with, the scenery he'd grown to love. Sure, as a kid, living with Uncle Scrooge was a riot, but he'd always longed for those weekends back at Grandma Elvira's farmhouse, visiting his cousins and working out on the crops. It was a simpler time, not less adventurous that's for sure, but at least he didn't feel so small then, so dull and boring, so useless. 

Now that Della was back, the boys seemed to have discarded him like week old milk. They didn't really need him anymore. They even stopped calling him Uncle! He was just Donald to them now, a stranger, an incoherent fool. That might've been why he still tried his best to reside in the houseboat. Out of their way. He couldn't really blame them though. For one, it was instinct for a duck to choose their mother over their father -or father figure in his case- although, that didn't make it hurt any less. But at the farm he was needed. Needed in the fields, in the kitchen, by Granny, by Della, by his cousins. Well, at least, back when he was younger. Right now, nobody needed him. Nobody except maybe Gladstone?

Donald thought the gander might've gone through the weeping willow pathway at the edge of the farm. And, as much as he would have loved to usually, Donald really was in no mood to interact with his beloved, dear old Grandma today. He was pretty sure that, if he tried, he'd either throw a temper tantrum or start crying uncontrollably. Neither seemed like a good option to throw onto Elvira after not seeing her for a few years. Maybe he'd visit another time when he wasn't running run-away errands, he seemed to have a lot more freetime without the boys. But, no, right now, the duck wanted to get this all over and done with, to retrieve the gander and make a chaste, silent return home.

But, as per usual, his luck wasn't going to allow that.

"Donald? Is that you?" 

_ Oh Phooey. _

"Cousin Gus! Hi! How are you?" The duck smiled awkwardly, waving back at his paternal cousin.

"Good, good. Just a little peckish s'all." The goose chuckled happily, "What about you? What brings you here?"

"Just, uh, taking a trip. ‘Car kind of broke down on my way, but I got it fixed, no problem." Donald grinned, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to show that he was getting really awkward and anxious. Maybe Gus would get the idea and excuse himself so that Donald could leave.

"Oh, well Ma is at the market if you have time to wait or I can tell her you stopped by." 

"That'd be pretty great, Gus, thanks. I do need to get going though, give Elvira my best wishes." He smiled, walking back over to the car, "Oh! And before I go, there's some pie in the back if you'd-"

"Pie? Don't mind if I do."

Donald laughed at his cousin's eagerness, pulling the tin out from the back seat with a smile, "Here ya go."

"Thanks, Donald! You're a lifesaver!"

"I thought you were only a little peckish?"

"Just bein’ modest." Gus smiled, taking the pie and waving his cousin off as he left for the farm house.

Donald waited until the goose was fully out of both eye and ear shot before parking the car behind a conveniently large row of bushes across the road. "That should hold for now." He muttered, running along the deserted highway to a point that was nothing but fauna and forestry.

"Thirteen steps left of the sign post and straight ahead," Donald said, reminding himself of the route he'd once had better memorized than that of his own twin sister's birth date (which really shouldn't have been that hard in the first place),

"Turn right at the river and then again at the big mossy boulder." Donald muttered to himself. And, although he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he missed seeing the backside of Grandma Elvira's farm, missed trailing this particular path down memory lane. It was nostalgic, to say the least.

"And right through the weeping willows." He smiled softly. There, in the distance, as ancient as it now was to him, stood a little wooden cabin in the distance. He remembered finding that old thing like it was yesterday.

He and Gladstone were around eleven and ten, respectively. Della was off on some adventure with Uncle Scrooge, because, apparently, the farm life wasn't thrilling enough for her or whatever.

The young drakes were exploring, in spite of the absent hen, and were determined to find some sort of treasure that might best whatever Della could almost die trying to find with Scrooge. It was the only reason Donald had included Gladstone in his little misadventure. He was a plan B. A treasure magnet.

They made a map up of three of Fethry's crayons and a small tablecloth Grandma Elvira was no longer using. Where that map was now, Donald had no idea, he'd suspected Gladstone to have had it last.

But, in due time, they wouldn't find any use for it other than blatant decoration in handwriting and doodles that no one, for the life of them, could make out.

After getting tangled up in a few strings of the weeping willow's leaves, eleven-year-old Donald was just about to give up and admit defeat, forgetting that luck was playing for the same team this time.

"Donnie, look!" The young gander had exclaimed, stars practically dancing in his eyes. Donald thought it was a pretty look on the gosling.

"What is it?" He asked, ripping himself out from his environmental entanglement and landing face down on the grass. "Ow."

"It's a small house."

Donald gasped, grabbing his cousin by the arm and pulling him toward the wooden cabin. "Come on, Gladdy! There's probably some cool stuff in there that we can rub in Della's face!"

"But what if someone lives there?" Gladstone pouted, stopping the two in their tracks, "It could be dangerous."

"Don't worry. If anything tries to hurt us, I'll punch it!" The duckling said, thrusting his fists in front of him before turning over and pecking Gladstone's temple, "And, if you're still scared, you can hold my hand."

There was, much to the children's delight, no trace of residence anywhere in sight. It was completely empty inside, save for a table and a shelf that had been built into the cabin.

"Donald, look, a key." Gladstone smiled, letting go of his cousin's hand and picking a gold key off from the table top, "I think it's for the door."

"So no treasure?" The duckling sighed, dropping to the ground, "Stupid Dumbella, thinking she's too good to spend time with me anymore. I’ll just not spend time with her then. See how she likes it." He muttered with a scoff.

Gladstone walked over and took a seat next to him, handing him the key. "I think we did good. We have a whole clubhouse to ourselves now. Plus, it was pretty fun not knowing where we were going for a while." He giggled.

"Yeah."

"Do you think we should tell Della about the house?"

"No. I want to have something that I don't share with her too. I know were twins, but if she’s gonna do stuff on her own with Unca’ Scrooge, then I wanna be able to do stuff on my own-"

"With me?" The gosling perked up, a hopeful feeling in his chest as he stared expectantly at his cousin.

"Sure. Sounds fun."

Donald smiled gently, looking off into the distance. It was still there. Ship shape and better than when they'd first found it, better than when they'd come back and time and time again to fix and improve it as teens.

"Gladstone?"

"Hmm?"

"Do. Do you still have that map we made when we were ten? And the key?" Donald asked, dragging a hand through his feathers as he spoke through the door to the gander's bedroom.

The sound of a door unlocking and cracking open was followed by Gladstone's hoarse voice asking "What do you need it for?"

Donald looked down, and then to the side, and basically everywhere but the young gander. "I just. I just wanna be alone, okay."

"Well, I don't see you paying rent. Plus it's our clubhouse, remember?" Gladstone added with a soft smile, "If you go, I go too. We could actually start hauling all of Granny's old kitchen stuff and turn it into a real house."

Luckily for the two of them, Fethry and Della were at the aquarium for the day.

And so, for every weekend that Donald came to visit, the two of them would find some way to sneak off and improve upon their newfound living space with used machinery and trinkets from both Grandma Elvira and Scrooge's homes.

Honestly, if it weren't for Gladstone's luck, they probably would've been found out by the time they 'borrowed' the spare fridge from Gus's room.

Donald sighed, amongst the countless playful memories they'd had at that cabin, there were around a handful or two of others that he'd never mention out loud but had never failed to leave his mind.

As they got older, things started to change between them. Normal teenage things like hormones and reckless emotions, tantrums and periods of time whereby either drake had wished to be left completely alone, especially from each other.

One of these moments included the time Gladstone complained about Donald not helping him carry the mattress to the cabin or setting it up in the new bedroom that they'd built a month prior.

"I sleep on the hammock! I won't use the bed, so I don't need to help you set it up!" The duck had yelled, packing away his mini toolbox -that he'd stolen from his dad's shed at least two years ago- after fixing the broken lock on the bedroom door.

"Doesn't matter! I helped you set up that hammock and I expected the same for my bed!" The two had found that they were so far off from civilization that yelling at each other at the top of their lungs wouldn't bother anyone in the slightest.

"No you didn't! All you did was make lemonade for yourself and ask if I wanted a sip when it was nearly all done!" Donald growled, closing the door and turning the new key to see if it locked. With a faint click, the duck held back a smile in pride of his wonderful handyman skills.

"Well, excuse me if I didn't want you to dehydrate yourself after fighting with a bedsheet and a couple of trees for two hours!" Gladstone scoffed, taking a seat on the bed, his eyebrows raising at how soft the mattress was. What a good win, maybe Lady Luck could help him into another competition and get him some fancy silk blankets to go along with it?

"The least you could've done was give me a full glass! You made three litres and sat there with your brand new shades, sipping everything through a butterfly bendy straw!" Donald said, pointing a finger at the gander, tapping it harshly against his forehead, amongst countless blonde curls -whether they were down feathers that failed to fall in his youth or inheritance of his mother’s beautiful blonde locks, neither knew.

"Well thank you for noticing my glasses,  _ cuz _ , but all I asked you to do for me was help me carry it from the farm to our cabin." Gladstone faltered a bit, only now noticing how close they were to each other. His heart rate picked up instantaneously as his eyes flickering down to the duck's beak for a split second.

Donald caught that second.

"O-on the contrary, we should be on even terms now, what with the fact that you fixed the lock on my door and- uh, the- the door is locked, right?" The gander asked nervously, the heat in his chest blaring as his heart pounded against his ribcage.

Donald nodded slowly, catching the gander's blush. How lucky.

Sure it wasn't Donald's first time, but it was his first time with a guy. He guessed it to be Gladstone's first time in general, at least, he hoped it was. The thought of taking the gander's innocence was what made him want it even more back then, and the thought of him being the only one to ever touch Gladstone and feel him in such a way was what made him want it all the times that followed after.

The duck shook his head. This was no time for reminiscing. He was only here to find Gladstone and take him back to the manor so that Della could calm down and wow. This whole cabin thing was Della's fault to begin with wasn't it? And there she was, making him return to this place, this memory he wanted to bury, this satire cloud that followed him around everywhere and almost everyday.

There was smoke coming out of the chimney, Donald noted. His hammock was still securely tied to the trees beside the cabin and, in it, a blanket he didn't recognise as once being his own. It probably belonged to Gladstone, which only proved his suspicions. He's here. He had to be.

The duck took a breath, deciding that now was as good a time as ever to walk up the hill and knock on that door. The door he'd spent about an hour varnishing, with help from Gladstone, of course. They'd taken a long shower that day, trying to remove the viscous substance from their feathers, in the shower that they'd built together. The idea for the water source, oddly enough, came from Gladstone, who'd suggested they use water from the river because it flowed from upstream.

Donald straightened the hat on his head, finally making his way toward the cabin. He'd reached it and, with a deep breath, knocked on the door.

As preteens, they'd decided that having a secret knock was useless because their cabin house was too complicated to find either way. It wasn't like they'd knock anyway. Gladstone had the key and, most of the time, wouldn't go anywhere near the cabin without Donald.

The door went unanswered for a moment of time, leaving the duck with a feeling of regret and anxiety at the pit of his stomach. His heart raced for reasons he didn't know.

"Donald?" He jumped at the call of his name, clutching his chest as though his lungs were about to topple out like spilled spaghetti. A head poked out from the side of the cabin, followed by the same hoarse voice as before asking "What are you doing here?"

"Wow, great way to greet your cousin who's been looking for you for nearly three weeks." Donald rolled his eyes, trying to play off his little jump-scare as though it was routine. He watched, all too observantly, as the gander walked toward him, revealing himself finally. The gander was dressed in pastel yellow overalls, one sleeve was undone, accentuating the thick fuzz of his chest feathers, the outfit stained here and there with dirt and leaves. A flower shovel was held in one hand as the other rested on his hip, his hair amuck and undone in its natural pearly curls, topped by a pastel lime bandana. The duck eyed him quickly, breathing in through his nostrils and allowing all his anxiety into the tapping of his webbed foot.

"Why were you looking for me? Better yet, how did you even know I was gone?" Amongst the annoying and questioning tone that Gladstone was trying to give off, Donald sensed a little bit of hope -or something along that line- as the gander glanced behind him and onto the weeping willow curtains down the hill, checking to see if he was followed.

"You told Della something about staying at the manor and she's just been worried about you." Donald paused, the tapping in his foot picking up rapidly. Now wasn't the time to act prideful. "Gladstone,  _ I've _ been worried about you. Just let me in so we can talk, please."

Gladstone brushed passed him, unlocking and opening the door hesitantly, unsure if this was a smart choice to make. He gestured for the duck to come inside so that the door could be closed behind them again. An awkward, almost time stopping, gaze was shared between the two as Donald made his way inside; neither able to ignore the way their heartbeat spiked at that instant.

Donald sat down on the couch by the built-in coffee table, a familiarity that warmed his heart immensely. He remembered when Gladstone had won that couch in a raffle after buying the two of them ice cream. The gander had also won a lifetime supply of ice cream that the two of them finished in round-about two months, with help from Della, Fethry and, of course, Gus.

"Well? Go on then. Speak." Gladstone said, breaking the silence as well as the duck's train of thought, arms folded over his flossy feathered chest as he glanced over at the flames dancing violently in the fireplace.

There was an awkward pause that left the duck choking on broken thoughts and empty excuses.

"Gladstone." Donald said hesitantly, pouting, and in a tone that made the gander shiver immediately after hearing it, wishing he could just block out it's alluring melody and yell incoherent gibberish until the duck was completely inaudible to him.

"No, no. Don't  _ Gladstone _ me. Why are you here, Donald? Why'd you come looking for me? The real reason." Gladstone retorted, trying to distract the attention from his flushed cheeks toward the duck currently fidgeting with his fingers.

"Because you were missing for three weeks, Gladstone! For fuck's sake, am I not allowed to worry about you?"

"I didn't think you would."

"Why wouldn't you think I would?" Donald asked, standing up from the couch and stepping toward his cousin, "Gladdy, please tell me what's wrong."

Gladstone turned his face, hiding whatever pain-stricken expression had begun to form in his eyes. Letting Donald in again was a mistake. It’s always been a mistake.

"Gladstone." The duck frowned, walking forward and cupping his cousin's cheeks. He desperately wanted to know what was wrong, desperately wanted to help solve whatever problems it was that his cousin was so insistent on keeping quiet, so that he wouldn't have to see Gladstone suffer like this.

Donald looked around subtly, letting go of the gander’s face as he tried to change the subject. "I like what you did with your hair," He hushed, "makes you look like less of a dinosaur." Now that Donald really looked at it, all the gander really did was loosen it, probably leave it wet and ungelled for a period of time. "Glad to know you still have your curls in tact." He snorted, ruffling a hand through the pearly feathers.

Gladstone leaned into the touch, sighing softly to himself as he closed his eyes. The gander still wasn't in a good enough mood to laugh along or make smug commentary. He knew what Donald was playing at and it wasn't working. All he really wanted was to crawl back into that small room in the corner of the cabin and sleep, sleep in that bed that held so many memories he was sure it suffocated him every night, wrapping him in nostalgia and keeping him warmer than any blanket ever could. He wanted to forget about the world he was currently in and drift back into those dreamlike memories, memories of nights that made him feel alive and loved. Memories that echoed his cousin's voice throughout the room like a broken record stuck inside the walls, telling him  _ "It's okay. I'm here." _ He remembered very clearly how that phrase was always followed by a soft kiss, whether it was on his cheek, his temple or his beak didn't matter to him. But to have been so long without it made him feel all the more bitter and alone.

Time passed and so did the awkwardness both drakes had started off with. They spoke idly of how Granny Elvira had taught Gladstone to properly tend to his garden, how the boys and Della were doing back at the manor, what the gander did to keep himself occupied in their little cabin, whether or not Donald had finally succeeded in getting a stable job and laughing at the fact that, no, he hadn’t really even tried since Della got back, but maybe he should since the boys now have someone else to take care of them.

“Glad to know you hadn’t changed all that much.”

“Like you would know, goose.” Donald laughed, poking the gander’s arm playfully, “You haven’t seen me since last christmas.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that.” Gladstone said, letting out a coy huff of a chuckle.

“‘You ready to talk about it?” The duck asked, scooting closer to the gander on the velvet couch, placing the empty pie tin on the counter in front of him. 

Gladstone faltered, giving the duck a hesitant look before shaking his head. “Not. Not yet.”

Their hands grazed, but neither felt the need to pull away, instead they took the opportunity to interlock their pinkies. “That's fine. I might not understand why you came here, but, I must admit, seeing the ol’ shack again isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Brings back a lotta memories.” Donald said fondly, his warm smile soon dripping into a frown.

Gladstone turned his head from his cousin's smiling face, returning the fond smile as he looked back at the bedroom door. “Yeah. Sure does.”


End file.
